


The Mantle and the Maid

by Sinope



Category: Once and Future King Series - T. H. White
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:29:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinope/pseuds/Sinope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day in Camelot: a delayed banquet, a curious fairy gown, and a household knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mantle and the Maid

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rather liberal retelling of a story, known as "The Boy and the Mantle" or "The Saga of the Mantle." I hope you find pleasure in it; any anachronisms or errors are my own! Many, many thanks to Ilyena-Sylph and Heather, my marvelous last-minute betas.
> 
> Written for Mithrigil

 

 

  
_"If I am made to get married," thought the Wart, who had doubts on the subject, "I will marry a girl like this: a kind of golden vixen."_  
\-- The Once and Future King

The flag above the tournament field was made of cornflower-dyed rice paper, glittering with precisely placed gold leaf. _Azure, three crowns or._ Kay pursed his lips and blew across the field; a marchpane knight toppled over.

He turned the little knight upright, digging his feet into the fragrant gingerbread earth. A tiny patch of red-slashed white had been painted on the shield -- _argent, three bendlets gules._ Of course, it _would_ be noble Sir Lancelot demonstrating his prowess before the little rosewater-scented queen, Kay supposed. He turned back to the royal baker and gave him a curt nod of approval. "The workmanship is good enough. I suppose you'll need a cart to carry all those blancmange pavilions?"

The baker nodded. He'd always seemed a dependable cook, not terribly gifted with creativity, and Kay suspected that the recent improvements in the court's sotelties stemmed from the addition of pretty Beaumains to the kitchen. Still, the baker would be a fool not to take credit for it, and his slim apprentice had to learn sometime that talent would never singlehandedly win him respect.

"Off you go, then," Kay said. "I've got more important things to do than look at cake." Such as inspecting the royal stables -- Arthur had mentioned that the horses seemed less lively than usual, and a poorly-cleaned stall or trough might be to blame -- but Kay was hardly going to tell his business to a baker. As he swept out of the kitchens, he caught sight of Beaumains standing in the shadows, watching him with cool eyes -- as if Kay had unfairly denied him more profuse praise. Kay snorted and headed for the stables.

Halfway there, a firmly-planted figure stopped his progress. "My dear, I know that you've a banquet to prepare, but I need to talk to you." Kay halted, tried not to sigh too loudly, and braced himself for a detour.

The Lady Catherine was tall and strong-boned, with an arched nose that crinkled whenever she expressed a strong opinion -- which was currently the case. "What's wrong, my turtledove?"

She rolled her eyes. "I've seen the order of ceremonies tonight."

"And?"

"Doesn't something seem out of place to you?"

"It's hardly unusual. The king and queen enter first, followed by the honored guests, followed by the knights in order of rank. The king interviews the amusing supplicant of the week, and we proceed to the usual array of dishes and entertainments."

Catherine glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice slightly. "Yes, but surely you've noticed who those 'honored guests' are? A yeoman forester and his _lady friend_! I know that Arthur gets his wild fancies sometimes, and I certainly don't want to be the one to ask him to change his guests, but to honor a baseborn outlaw over all our noble knights? It's outrageous, and I've heard them whispering as much. If they _must_ be at tonight's banquet, then the least you can do is change their order of entrance."

Kay opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but something in the strand of gold hair fallen over Catherine's eyes made him pause. He swallowed the words he'd been about to speak. "I think you'd like Maid Marian if you met her." She looked unpersuaded. "Anyway, it would be a terrible affront to Arthur to have his chosen guests trail in after everyone else. If the king wanted to give the place of honor to the scullery maid, he'd have the right. Unless you want to bring this up with him yourself?"

A glare was all the answer he needed. Kay leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. "Then I'll see you at the banquet, dear?" He paused and breathed in. "Have you added almond oil to your daily toilet? It's a lovely smell."

Catherine flushed. "I'll see you at the banquet." Turning away from Kay, she hurried off to the ladies' quarters.

Kay shook his head and continued on to the stables.

* * *

The trumpets' fanfare resounded so strongly that Kay could hear each note through the sturdy oak doors. As the music faded and Arthur's welcome began, he looked again at the young lad who'd shown up at the castle door that morning. He'd have turned away the boy, along with his rather unlikely story, but the token he'd brought with him was irresistibly curious. "I hope her ladyship is pleased," he murmured to the lad, just as Arthur's speech ended and the doors swung open.

Kay escorted the boy through the dining hall, to King Arthur's seat (he'd insisted that no one call it a throne). "My lord," he said in a voice practiced to resound through the hall, "this lad bears a remarkable gift from the North -- a mantle cunningly woven by fairies! He brings this gift with but one boon to ask: that it be given to the lady whose form it best fits."

Arthur leaned toward the boy with an interested smile. "May I see this miraculous gown?"

The boy nodded, unrolling the plain cotton in which it had been wrapped. As soon as the mantle's fabric became visible, a whisper washed through the banquet hall -- gasps from the men, and sighs of longing from the women. It seemed a bliaut of ordinary cut, but the fabric had been so cunningly embroidered that its vines and starbursts seemed to move of their own accord, weaving over the cloth in a sensuous dance. Its color, too, seemed as changeable as the seasons, seeming gray, then violet, then emerald green. Arthur's eyes never left the marvelous cloth, but he spoke in the lilting formula of high speech, "This boon I grant thee!" The banquet hall burst into applause.

Kay stepped forward to take the dress from the boy, but the lad spoke abruptly with a clear voice. "King Arthur! One thing you must know of this gown: it has been woven with a strong enchantment, and will only fit gracefully on a lady who has lived in perfect faithfulness to her lord."

For one stretched-out moment, perfect silence fell over the hall. It was broken by one or two choked laughs -- Kay searched the court, but couldn't see who had committed the impudence. Then, a flurry of whispers began, and Kay had no doubt of what they said. The king had long been a fool where his wife was concerned; now, at least, he would be forced to confront her treacherousness. Kay found himself positively eager with anticipation.

Arthur's face was very still. He neither looked to Guenever at his left, nor to Lancelot at his right. When he opened his mouth to speak, the entire hall hushed to hear his words; his voice sounded terribly calm. "Guenever, dearest, such a beautiful dress deserves to be worn by a beautiful queen. Try it on, so we can grant the lad's boon." He gave a nod to Kay.

Guenever rose gracefully. Kay supposed that the others might merely notice her proud chin, but he was the household knight, the one who saw her when all the others were gone. Her arms had a stiffness to them that only came out when she was very afraid. With the eyes of the court on him, Kay brought the dress to her, bowed, and handed it over.

She began to remove her mantle, fingers struggling with the lacing. Guenever had a habit of biting her nails that she'd never fully broken, making her fingers look bare and stubby in the torchlight. When she stepped out of her mantle, she stood before the court, clad only in her white chemise. Without any trembling, she slipped the fairy mantle on.

There was a moment, infinitely brief, when it looked like it fit, and something of guilt and joy knotted in Kay's stomach. Then the gown slid back, revealing the queen's white ankles; she shifted it forward and the back rode up, pinching under her arms. For a few minutes she wrestled with the dress, but every time she tugged it to fit in one place, it became too tight or loose in another -- always close, but never perfect. Finally, she pulled it off. "The dress is cursed by the Fair Folk," she muttered, and thrust it back at Kay.

When she dressed and reseated herself, Arthur looked at her gravely and said something, too soft for anyone else to hear. She replied in the same low voice, and relief flushed his face; Kay could only imagine with what deception he'd satisfied himself.

From his forgotten position, the boy spoke loudly. "You have still to grant my boon, King Arthur! Surely some fair maiden of your court is worthy of this gift?" Arthur gave the insolent boy a swift, fierce glare, but said nothing.

Kay stepped forward. "If I may, my king, could my fair lady Catherine try on the gown? I think it would suit her exceedingly well." His eyes swept over the banquet hall, seeking out her usual seat. As soon as their gazes met, she nodded, so that a shadow covered her eyes, and stood up. With a calm smile on her lips, she strode to the center of the hall, standing between Arthur and Kay.

Catherine's gown and chemise were not so fine as the queen's, but Kay had never stinted her when she eyed the fine silks brought over by the traders, and tonight she wore a bliaut in a blue deeper than her eyes, trimmed in bright silver thread. She met Kay's admiring gaze with a cool stare as she began to undress. "You don't need to be afraid," he said to her, reassuringly. Her lips tightened.

A few moments later, she stood resplendent in the fairy mantle. Ivy curled around her bosom and waist, flattering every curve precisely; the skirt fell in thick folds to the floor, to reveal only the tiniest tip of her toes. A smile broke over Kay's face, releasing all the tension he hadn't realized he'd held. "My lord Arthur, I believe that the dress has found its mistress."

Then he heard the whispers. They began with the servants from behind the king, soft and giggling, and spread throughout the hall -- a murmur here, a muffled snicker there. The hairs on Kay's neck began to prickle, and his cheeks flushed. "If anyone has an accusation, let him say it to my face!"

"Kay," Arthur said in an embarrassed voice. "You -- might want to ask the Lady Catherine to turn around."

Kay frowned. "Catherine?" Slowly, she twisted around. The gown that had fit so cunningly at her front looked absurd on her back, with a train so short that -- were it not for the chemise -- she would have been entirely exposed. A dark understanding of the gown's meaning flooded Kay's mind, and he turned away from her, lest he strike a woman. "Take it off," he said, dully.

The muffled snickers grew into outright laughter, and he wondered which one -- ones? -- had taken her to bed. "Oh, so this is cause for your laughter?" he cried out. "Then let your ladies wear the mantle, and see if it suits them any better! The king has granted a boon that cannot be undone; which of you can offer the mantle to your lady without fear?"

The laughter changed to muttering, and Kay's mouth tightened into a grim smile. "King Arthur, let no lady of this court be ashamed to imitate the Queen's own example. If it please you, let all the ladies come and slip on the gown, until we find one worthy of its possession!"

Arthur looked straight at him, with a knowing sadness that seemed almost to mock Kay's anger. Then he rose and spoke to the entire court. "As my seneschal has suggested, so shall it be. The banquet shall not continue until an owner of the gown is found."

The next hour turned into a series of weary repetitions, until Kay felt hunger gnawing at his stomach. A lady would step up to the center of the hall; her knight would watch her don the dress, his eyes betraying a flicker of hope; and over and over, the dress fit them ill, and their knight turned away in sorrow. A bitter satisfaction sank into Kay's bones, to see each one brought to the same level; but not once would he permit himself to cast a gaze in the direction of Lady Catherine.

At last the sorry wait was over, and every well-born woman had tried on the dress to no avail. The boy turned to Arthur. "Will you send me back to my land with the message that not a single faithful woman can be found in your court?"

Arthur sighed and stood again. "Is there anyone else who can try it on? Anyone?"

The knights and ladies glanced at each other in silence, and Arthur sank wearily into his chair. Then, from the side of the hall, a firm voice spoke. "I will put on the gown."

Kay turned. Maid Marian and Robin Wood stood together, his hand on her shoulder. The years had weathered Marian, as water weathers the riverbank, leaving behind only the most essential and real. Her hair was streaked with gray, which she had not dyed; the faint wrinkles on her face looked engraved by laughter, not age. Her strong arms still seemed to itch for a longbow or a sword. She was utterly, perfectly beautiful.

Arthur cleared his throat in the silence that had fallen. "You're a guest in this hall; you don't need to --"

"It's fine," she said, with a smile that flashed like foam on a river. She stepped forward and, with a few swift movements, slid out of her gown. Instead of a chemise underneath, she wore men's hose and a light linen tunic. As she picked up the fairy gown, she sent Robin a quick smile that seemed to say _I love you_ and _don't worry_ , all in one. Then she slipped it on, all in one motion, and spun in a circle, eyes gleaming with laughter.

The dress twirled around her in a flurry of autumn colors, gold and orange and bright scarlet. When it fell to her side, the fit wasn't remotely decent for a lady; it seemed to wrap around her hose in bright ribbons, revealing as much as it concealed. Kay would have laughed at how she resembled a jester, had she not shone so gracefully. Robin Wood stepped forward, took her in both arms, and kissed her deeply. He turned to the king. "Arthur. If any other woman can wear this gown with such grace, I'll gladly give it to her; but if not, it suits my lady perfectly, just as she suits me."

Most of the hall simply stared, but Arthur laughed, his face showing a hint of the reckless joy Kay remembered from little Wart. "You speak truly, Robin. The gown is hers -- and may the feast begin."

Resounding applause broke out -- as much for the food as for the dress, Kay suspected -- and everyone returned to their tables. Kay walked to his seat at Catherine's side, his duties for the meal concluded, and took his place. Neither of them exchanged a word during the entire meal.

* * *

That night, as Kay undressed for bed, he tried to remain upset at Catherine, but he merely felt a deep weariness. Instead, Marian's gentle smile kept floating through his mind. In the moonless night, he felt the bed shift as Catherine slid into the other side.

"May I tell you a story?" he said, finally.

"All right," she said. Her voice sounded soft; Kay had never heard her show fear before.

"It's a story about a griffin, and a castle made of food, and the noblest woman I ever knew."

He retold the story of meeting Robin Wood, speaking in a calm, slow voice, so he could remember it more clearly: the stench of the pork-fat beds; the fierce rage of the griffin; the flickering movements of Maid Marian, slipping through the forest as nimbly as a fox. Catherine listened to it all in silence, making "mmm" sounds at appropriate pauses.

Kay finished, and the room was silent. "I don't hate women, you know. I ought to -- it's bad enough being the household knight, the one who never fights in tournaments and loses when he tries -- but I really can't hate them." He paused. "I fell in love with you because you reminded me of Marian. I know it's silly -- I was just a boy when I met her -- but when you talk to me, I know there's something real behind it. And I've tried to stay true to you -- I've tried so hard. Why wasn't it enough?"

She didn't respond for a while, and at last exhaled slowly. "Kay. You know I'm not her, right? I'll never be her."

Kay reached under the bedcovers for Catherine's hand. It felt cool and very smooth -- not work-roughened from the outdoors -- and her slender fingers curled between his. "Yes," he said. "I know."

 


End file.
